when i was a child you told me to believe
by bubblyangel101
Summary: Aoko is not a fairytale, he is not a fairytale, and she will sooner believe that he hates her than anything close to love. Follow-up to Juxtaposition, but can stand alone.


AN: Follow-up to Juxtaposition, but can stand alone (they're just set in the same universe that's all). Kaito POV. Since this is sort of a dark!universe both of them take things more seriously than in canon.

I swear I have like five different versions of this because none of them seemed to end properly (LOL-I'm still super iffy about the ending) so there might be a third part to just kind of wrap things up because I don't wanna, you know, just _leave_ them here-let me know if anyone's interested. :) Anyway. Hope you like!

oOo

It feels like he's choking back water. Which he is, he supposes, if you count tears as part water (which they are), but this is beyond water. Is stepping out straight sideways into the ocean, eyes wide and stinging and sinuses burning so hard he wishes they would crack already. _I've been hurt before. I don't have anything left but this to lose. This is my last chance._

"I can't," he says finally. _Will you come to me?_

In that silence he thinks of many things. Her hair in the morning. Caramelized popcorn. The soft piano melody she likes to hum when she thinks he isn't listening. The way she's always been, bright and open and dry and lovely.

But she's hollow now, face and eyes alike, and without a word she turns and leaves him breathless in the middle of the rusting bridge.

oOo

Their story wears dark dusty trails in the circles of his mind.

 _(but we were never made to be easy)_

"I wish you'd consider what it is that she wants," says Hakuba in the early days, back when they were all optimistic and healing and blissfully ignorant. Kaito raises an eyebrow and laughs, because _boy oh boy_ if he could figure out whatever the hell Aoko wanted (wants) he'd be the richest man alive, wouldn't he?

On the other side of the spectrum: "I wish you'd just tell her you love her already," giggles Momoi, bright, ditzy Momoi-chan, who thinks she has the magical solution to the world's problems courtesy of Korean dramas and pretty boy posters. _What makes you think I haven't,_ thinks Kaito, less out of resentment than genuine disillusionment, because Aoko will sooner believe that he hates her than anything close to love.

oOo

Kid's a charming casanova, a shameless one.

He makes to approach her that night, loot heavy in his pocket, more out of habit than anything else (he refuses to admit her hair flowing in the moonlight, the blue dress tugging at her ankles).

"Hel-" he begins, and she turns, striking blindly, knocking the monocle off his face. It shatters somewhere to the right of them, hollow and grating. ( _East of Eden._ )

 _Go kill yourself. I hate you._

Pause. Compartmentalize the hurt. Then, like walking on eggshells:

 _As long as the fair lady doesn't cry._

(Non-sequiturs have always been his downfall.)

oOo

It's the (fake) concern that stings more than anything else.

She doesn't see him for weeks and weeks after that, partially because Kid's been somewhat absent (read: final exams), partially out of awkwardness on his part and bewilderment on hers. He's always played the classy fool around her, the charming idiot, and to find that he has a brain under it all is not only demeaning but in multiple ways a betrayal.

Kaito. Kaito, well, tells himself that he's dealing with it. But he isn't, not really-buys rolls and rolls of bright green meadows, of rainbow mermaids and glittery hearts, of jolly-faced Saint Nicholas and the luminous moon, and uses them to wrap the presents he's never going to give her. Makes the mistake of going to the shop as himself, at first-"More of Miss Nakamori's work, sir?" the clerk-Matsuda-san-winks at him around the third time, and it takes a good half-minute to realize that no, this is not a dream, yes, Matsuda-san could very well tell her, yes, she will hate him if she finds out.

He stands there, fingers caught loosely around the roll, and leaves silently. It would have been a more memorable encounter had he dropped some kind of reply ("family friend" being too obvious, while "distant admirer" sounds outright suspicious), i.e., more worth mentioning to Aoko. "It was a stupid mistake in the first place," he mutters, breath forming puffy white clouds outside the shop door. Kuroba Kaito never visits Old Time Presents again.

However, Matsuda-san does become acquainted with-and increasingly fond of-a harried salaryman, a bookish schoolgirl, and an aging heiress, all with the same predilection for thin, bright, beautiful wrapping paper; all with the same clover-shaped cellphone keychain.

oOo

It's dark when he finishes the report, stretches with cracking joints that groan with exhaustion at the thought of the long walk home. He's normally on top of schoolwork-gets it done months in advance, even-but Ishimura-sensei has never liked him. At least, that's what he tells himself when he learns a day and a half before graduation that they were assigned 10 pages to turn in by yesterday. (And on one of his rare sick days, nonetheless.) He'd cajoled and whined and pulled the possibly-rich-alum card, not so casually dropping hints of his acceptances everywhere from Todai to Keio, and what a shame it would be if Japanese literature were the thing to trip him off and drain away his marvelous future, and with it any hope for new textbooks.

He receives a flat stare in response, and a request for it on the desk by tonight. Oh, and make it 15, since Kuroba-kun must have been following along with the lesson plans and reviewing when he was abroad vacationing ( _Heists are NOT all fun and games,_ thinks Kaito somewhat furiously), and it really would be interesting if he added an extra section incorporating outside cultural influences on, say, the Tale of Genji. _There's nothing except for China_ is Kaito's first thought, his second being _Sensei must have really wanted to vacation when he was young_.

"Thank God I'm smart," he whistles cheerfully, and makes to the printer to pick up the gleaming copy.

It's jammed. And out of ink.

Kaito pauses. "I take that back. The heavens hate me."

Half an hour later he emerges (at last!), white sheets marked with the occasional dark thumbprint, but Ishimura-san will just have to deal with it. He's in the midst of trying to remember the last time he saw his stapler when he collides with Aoko-in an old sweatshirt, hair in a messy bun, breathing hard- _but I'd know you anywhere._

"I'm so sorry," she blabbers, hands on his shoulders, his chest, his wrists, "I-"

He steps further back into the shadows, palms sweating. She doesn't want to see him. She doesn't. She shouldn't.

"Do you know if it's still open?" she calls, blue eyes luminous yet so, so blind. "I think I might've dropped a USB in there-it's important, has all the festival preparations-I'm graduating tomorrow, you see-"

Kaito looks back to the double doors. The decidedly shut, self-locking double doors.

"Please-if the janitor's still around-are you the janitor? I'm sorry, this isn't normally like me-"

"No."

A pause. "Oh. I guess I'll just-"

"But I can get it open," says Kaito, soft and defeated, and sees her eyes widen in shock. Sees her stagger away from him, releasing the cloth of his jacket faster than he can blink. Pulls out the lockpicks from his shoe, and sewn into his shorts, and starts to work steadfastly, because this way he won't have to see the disgust marring her features.

It feels like an eternity, the jarring clicks and scratches the only accompaniment to his (all-too-loud, uneven) breathing. She slips inside soundlessly and emerges, left hand twirling the errant USB, and makes to walk off onto the dark dirt road that's a shortcut to her house. A dangerous shortcut, at this time of night.

But it's not concern for her safety that makes him rush to pull her back; it's a mixture of confusion and instability in a world that's gone off-course too soon, too fast. "You aren't going to thank me?" he says, grinning, pulling her around to face him.

She's silent. Then: "Thank you for having so much experience." _With breaking and entering_ hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating in the silence.

 _I'm sorry. Look at me. I just-_

"While we're at it, thank you for making me look like a fool in front of my co-workers as well. I'm not that pathetic. I don't need your money."

"He told on me? Damn, that Matsuda-"

"Who else would it be? I'm dense, but I'm not stupid," she counters angrily, shaking off his hand. "We don't suddenly gain five new customers the day after the 'messy-haired guy' stops coming. Let's not mention that he had your eyes."

"Aye, madam, I'm your purple-eyed fiend."

"Look, I'm not in the mood to talk to you. Not now. I-"

"Then when will you be?" says Kaito. Drops the grin so fast he's the one that gets whiplash. "Aoko, we're graduating-"

"You. Have no right to-"

"I said I'm sorry. I told you why I did it. It was stupid. I'm stupid. I said-" _that I loved you._

"You can't just ignore me and ignore me and then tell me you-make me believe that you-"

"All I've been trying to do is tell you the truth-"

"What the hell, Kuroba Kaito?!" Advances on him angrily, and he used to think she was pretty, but this anger is veiled hatred, pure and dark and curdled milk in his stomach. "I'm not mad at you because you did it. God, just thinking about it makes me-I thought something had happened to you, and when you posted your damn photos in Italy-"

"Spain."

"-with that stupid marble fountain you know what my first thought was? _Oh no, they'll connect it to Kid, and he'll be found out. Oh no, what if the snipers find him? Oh no_ -and not a single thought was about my father, because you're a manipulative charismatic psychopath who thinks he's the best thing to walk the earth and you know how much of an inferiority complex I have and you played me, you had Kid play me-"

"I-Aoko, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking-"

"Weren't you now? You-"

"Aoko-"

"Don't touch me," she hisses, and sends him tumbling against the marble pillar, white report papers scattering like flaking leaves on the sidewalk.

He closes his eyes. Raises a hand to the side of his head, and sighs as it comes back bloody in the growing moonlight.

Aoko's on her knees in front of him, eyes wide in horror.

"Forget it," he says coldly. "Wouldn't want you to dirty your hands."

oOo

Graduation comes and goes in a blur of emotions. The takoyaki stands. The bright calls of the face painter. The solemnity of the headmaster's voice.

In many ways Kaito feels like he's done it all with Aoko before-should have done it all with her before. They've been mapping this out since middle school: first the yakisoba, then the photo booth, then the obligatory kowtowing to relatives, and lastly, green tea mochi. He makes the rounds alone, wondering if she's forgotten. Or maybe it doesn't matter to her anymore, now that he's turned out to be such a failure of a friend. It hurts, in a deep, omnipresent way. (Unlike his head, which throbs more as a distraction than an emergency.)

In hindsight he wishes that he had just backed out, or sat down with a cool cloth, or listened to Mom when she invited him to have lunch with Aunt Saiko, because maybe then he wouldn't have had to see Aoko and Hakuba at the mochi stand. Together.

He's beginning to see why betrayal leads so easily to hate.

oOo

The vendors are packing their wares, time-worn obaasan dusting off their aprons and preparing to come back another year, another time in this excuse of a town. Kaito wonders how many seasons they've seen pass-if the seasons pass at all-if they've loved anyone, really deeply truly, or if they've just stood here all along, immobile and perpetually complacent.

Breathe. Then, heart hammering in his chest before he knows it, because he's always seemed to know when she's around.

"Kai-"

He takes a step.

"I've never understood you," she blurts out, and he knows if he turns he'll see disheveled hair and running makeup. Knows he'll start to believe again, and he can't-he's on to a new life, the life he worked for, the life that he spent half his hours at the tutoring center for. The life that he won't (can't) let Kid steal from them. From her.

A ragged gasp. She's crying now, then. "How do you-how do you do it all? I-"

"You take too long," he snaps, and leaves before he starts to crumble.

oOo

 _You take too long._

In another life, thinks Kaito wearily, a life without big bad men in guns, without wild leapfrogging police chases in broad daylight, without police inspector fathers and irresponsibly flighty mothers and bright-eyed little girls with the rosiest cheeks. In another life she would have caught him. Or he would have realized what it meant before he ended it all, would have listened when Jii hesitated at his constant mentions of Aoko, would have understood his mother's sad-eyed looks and their classmates' constant teasing and his own conflicted, immature, irresponsible feelings.

In another life she would have believed him enough to know that he never wanted to hurt her. Would have had enough confidence in herself to understand. ( _What,_ he thinks reproachfully- _I can't even be honest to myself? Isn't the truth that I don't have enough confidence to not hurt her?_ )

She has all the right in the world to be upset, because he didn't trust her enough to tell her the truth back when he could have saved them. It's alright when she doesn't pick up. When it takes three weeks to finally get her to agree to hang out-well, it was better than it is now, when he'll probably never see her again.

"She cares about me," says Kaito to his reflection. _This is a good thing. Isn't it?_ He'll live on it, drink on it, feast on it, because as long as she does it means they aren't over. They've never stopped. That's why it feels so wrong. That's why- _that's why he can't let go._

It's alright for a while; he's always had an excellent memory ( _imagination_ ). She's saying good morning. He better stop eating that chocolate-or he'll get fat once he gets old and his metabolism finally takes a rest. He hasn't forgotten that he promised to go with her to Shibuya in two weeks, has he?

(It's not okay, because he's always by the corner of the sidewalk, back where she pushed him so many days ago, where he should have just left her alone. He's never really left.)

By coincidence he sees her one day on the streets, laughing at something the boy next to her has said. Realizes, all of a sudden, that if it were him instead, she'd be crying.

 _Oh, she cares about you, all right,_ says Kid, tone silky-smooth, _but for all the wrong reasons._

oOo

He can't pinpoint exactly when it started to grow out of control. He spends his days just around the corner from her doorstep, his nights in dreams of what they were, and if he closes his eyes just right he feels her breath on his lips, her hand in his, and he's crossed the lines so many times he doesn't even know which side he's on, or if there's a side at all.

Kaito's not an idiot when it comes to emotions-he knows this is because he doesn't have any other friends, really. For all his social antics, there aren't many that know him beyond his tricks, and this is due mostly (entirely) to his disinterest and lack of effort. Aoko-big-hearted, always-smiling, I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself Aoko-had been enough. Or was she?

He channels his energy into his gadgets, white worklights turned up so bright that they sometimes leave purple-green dots of temporary blindness, even behind his well-trained eyelids. Jii lets him, for a while-doesn't protest when he suddenly announces that he's going to up the heists from once a month to three a week, doesn't scold him when he spends hours and hours with the blueprints, mindlessly sketching circles and jagged lines or, even worse, roses.

It's one night when he's prepared to sneak his seventh notice that month into HQ that Jii finally puts his foot down, both metaphorically and literally. "Not tonight, Young Master," he says, and Kaito knows from the look in his eyes that either Kaito postpones or the heist doesn't happen at all.

Still, though, he wouldn't be Kaito if he didn't at least try. "Jii-chan, I swear, I-"

"Young Master-"

"Please-you know school's gonna start in a few weeks, and then I'll be way too busy. I don't have anything to do all day, I-"

"If you go now, you'll be caught," Jii says sharply. Kaito stops short at his tone. "Go find Miss Nakamori. Go apologize. Stand outside her door."

"Jii-chan, I-"

"You'll never be normal otherwise."

So he goes, is eyed strangely by Nakamori, who invites him in for tea-and then just as quickly countermanded by his daughter, who all but crumples at the sight of him and pulls him outside.

"Still not ready?" he laughs.

"I-"

He blames the surrealism of seeing her in person; he blames the hurt in her eyes; he blames her small hands on his forearms, light and distracting and wonderful.

"Kaito, I-"

 _Damn what you say,_ thinks Kaito fiercely, and kisses her.

oOo

She calls him out again after that, and after that, and after that. "I hate you," she says, hands shaking, "I hate you so much," and he starts to laugh again because _she cares about me she can't let me go_ and it's easier to believe and close his eyes than to think about what's going on.

Some of the times he tries again to tell her he's sorry; some of the times he just stares and watches her eyes light up (in anger), watches and watches and watches because _it's easier to believe and close his eyes._

"You hate me," he says at long last, pulling her to him mid-tirade, and she looks at him, half-confused and half-indignant.

"Why the hell are you smiling?"

"You hate me," he repeats, and makes to kiss her again. _You still love me._

"Kai-"

 _Oh Aoko, don't you understand? We fell down the rabbit hole a long time ago._


End file.
